


Love's Not A Competition (But I'm Winning)

by Anonymous



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Blackmail, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Class Differences, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hair-pulling, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Prostitution, Reader-Insert, Semi-Public Sex, Situational Humiliation, sexual extortion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26142610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When your Boss's boss starts sniffing around, what are you supposed to do? Say no?
Relationships: V.M. Varga/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was just me challenging myself to write the grossest thing I could think of after finishing Fargo. It's a Varga/Reader fic, so by design, take that in itself as a content warning.

“Come on, lovely. Everyone’s got a price. Just name me yours, mm?”

The smacking sound his mouth made as he leisurely ran his tongue over those grimy, crooked teeth sent a shiver of disgust down your spine. He advanced, circling like a shark anyway. “I ‘appen to know you’ve got some debts that need repaying, yes?”

Meekly, you nodded. His eyes lit up. He liked that.

“Then rejoice my girl, for it’s your lucky day. As it just so ‘appens, I’m in the mood to buy.”

The slimy smile that appeared to mutate right out of him almost made you step back. Taking a deep breath, you stood your ground, even as he cocked his head and bore the weight of his dead eyes unto your very soul, making you gasp and grasp for kindness that wasn’t there, nor to be found anywhere. “Tea?” He chimed, happily ignoring the effect his prolonged presence was having on you. “It’s my mothers blend, never go anywhere without it.”

You nodded, not before daring a cursory glance around the empty office. Satisfied in your solitude, you forced a shaky leg forward, ignoring the endless spinning going on inside the confines of your mind. You collapsed into his arms, inhaling far too much of his musty, oddly minty scent in the process. Sealing the deal with a satisfied grunt, Varga pulled you in close and kept you there. “Did you know?” He hummed, practically sing-song. “The first sign of a good bitch is always obedience.”

\- -

“Open,” He demanded, and no sooner had the word left his lips did you find the length of his sullied fingers sinking their way down your throat, scraping, scratching, searching for something. You gasped as the back of his knuckle grazed the back of your throat, brushing against your uvula - in that one moment, his face changed. Evidently, he’d found what he’d been looking for.

“Knees,” came the next command, and you scrabbled to collect yourself in time. But clearly, patience was a virtue not known, nor afforded to one V.M. Varga - for his hands were in your hair before you could hope to stop it, forcing, pushing you down to the depths he knew you belonged. Next to an empty toilet stall, the shock of the cool, tiled floor making every last hair you had stand on end. You knew what he wanted, and by God, were you loathe to give it to him. Dread filled the pit of your stomach like an illness, squirming, making you gag on the air itself. You could feel him breathing down your neck as you stared ahead, not moving. He kicked the back of your knee in, lurching you ever so slightly forward. As if to say, “Come on, love. I haven’t got all day.”

_“And even if I had, I certainly wouldn't be spending it on the likes of you.”_

With Varga’s harsh voice ringing in your ears, you made your peace with God and gripped the edge of the toilet seat for leverage. At this point, who cared about hygiene? You shivered as your knees dragged across cold, chipped, tile, realizing, slowly, that this must be why he’d requested you take off your tights in advance. _Bastard_ , you cursed quietly, for you dared not say it out loud.

You were alive only because you didn't know enough, yet you knew. Varga was the kind of man, a special kind of magician who could make people disappear.

So with that in mind, you took a nice deep breath, willingly inhaling the foul aroma surrounding you and your sordid cohort and used the slimy little grin he flashed you as you gingerly stuck your fingers down your throat as all the more reason to get it over with. You flexed, angling, tying to hit that one sweet spot in the back of your throat you knew would help trigger your gag reflex. Varga _helped_ , planting the sole of his shoe against your back, pressing down hard. Hunched over some filthy toilet bowl, fighting to keep yourself from dipping face-first inside it, you only had but a moment left to question your life choices before you felt the bile rising, in no small part thanks to the sound of Varga’s belt buckle coming undone. _Oh God, oh fuck_. It hit you then, like a ton of bricks. He was actually getting himself _off_ on this. Of course, you hadn’t come into this blind—you’d known full well he wanted _something_ from you, this little arrangement—Really, you just hadn’t expected it to be _this_.

As much as Varga would have loved to see you act like an obedient dog both inside and out, you just couldn’t do it. Last you’d checked, throwing up on command wasn’t on the list of skills required by your resume. “If there's one thing I do hate, it’s waste,” He suddenly sighed, making you jump. “And right now, you’re wasting my bloody time.” Horribly aware of him creeping up behind you, every last working sense inside you screamed at you to run.

“Now now,” he cooed, each word making you sicker than the last. “No second thoughts allowed.”

Pain seared through your skull as his hand gripped your hair with shocking strength, far more than you’d have ever expected off of this pallid looking salesman. He forced you to stand, twisting you into his grasp and making you shudder as your back slammed against the stall, nothing but his sleazy frame blocking you in, making any attempt at escape a beautiful waste of time. His tongue quickly darted across dry lips, and before you could tell the sky from the ground they came crashing into yours. As it shortly turned out, a shocked intake of breath was the _worst_ move you could have possibly made—His tongue was in your mouth before you could stop it, not that you had any illusions you could have.

At such close distance, you were keenly aware of his weight leaning into yours, wandering hands scrabbling for purchase on your thighs, nudging them apart just enough to ram himself between them, making you painfully aware of the fact his arousal was still very much in effect. If anything, the close contact only seemed to be making it _worse_. You moaned in shock as he half-bit down on your lip, making him more impatient. His fingers dug into the hem of your cheap underwear, pulling them halfway down with ease. He skirted over your clothed sex, gently at first, as if to remind you he could stop playing ‘nice’ with you any time he felt like it. You really, truly, didn’t want to spend your Saturday night getting fingered by Varga in a dirty bathroom stall, but it didn’t look like you had any choice in the matter. Not as far as he was concerned, anyway.

You groaned involuntarily as his thumb rubbed circles over a place you never dreamed he’d be touching you in, making you feel things you’d sooner die than dare admit to. Varga laughed at the heat below his hands, gauging a reaction, taking no time to sink his teeth into the exposed sweat of your neck.

You sighed. That was going to leave a mark. But knowing him, you supposed that was very much the point.

“Feeling sicker yet?” His breath was about as pleasant as the rest of him, yet it still tickled the inside of your ear all the same. “Now I don’t mean to brag, but I tend to ‘ave that effect on women when I touch them. But not you, ‘ey?”

Your stomach dropped to a point below freezing as Varga casually slipped himself inside the one place you could no longer hide your shame, pulling his fingers free with complete, shameless glee. He wiped what evidence remained of your little _business transaction_ on the front of your shirt before unlocking the door behind him, leaving you both stained _and_ ashamed.

“I’ll be seeing you Monday then, I trust?”

Was the last you heard of him before he disappeared down the hall, just as smug and self-satisfied as when he’d came.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “At some level, food knows it’s food.”

“Wait!”

That cursed word had left your lips before you’d even had time to stop it. The damning silence that followed soon made you wish you hadn’t said it at all. Then, you heard it—the sound of him trudging carefully back, one step at a time. He was simply enjoying making you wait. Every subsequent door was crudely kicked open along the way, all except yours. When he finally reached you, he simply knocked.

And for better or worse, you opened it. You’d met the Devil and invited him in.

And for what? Some money? A temporary sense of relief? You couldn’t say.

It was something deeper than all of that, something you didn’t want to pry in.

Only that when he stared at you with those hungry, dead eyes, when you got a glimpse of that hardy, blackened soul—You didn’t want to back away. You’d come too far, lost too much to back down now.

And when the Devil embraced you, Oh, He did it with a smile.


End file.
